BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEE-
The snooze button gets smacked hard and the alarm shuts off. He rolls over onto his side and peeks at the clock. He's already snoozed it twice and it's six twenty, but he rolls back over and covers up, waiting another ten minutes and staying in the warmth of his sheets for a bit longer.
Those ten minutes go by in a flash and he grumbles frustratedly, reaching over and slapping the 'off' button on his alarm clock, reaching for his phone to check his messages. He's already got six texts and two missed calls from work, but he sets the phone face down on the bedside table and rises up to a seat, reaching his arms overhead to stretch. A groan erupts from his throat before he smacks his lips a bit, steps into his house slippers, and shuffles to the bathroom to begin his morning ritual.
Jackson Davis is not a morning person. Why he drives himself to wake up at six in the fucking morning, he'll never know. He could probably get away with waiting until eight, but he likes to try and get a jump start on the day, get his morning jog in, and have a good, relaxed breakfast before he begins work. But at 47, the allure of a soft, warm bed grows stronger every day and calls to him much more sweetly than the biting chill of a morning run.
Max snoozes on the floor as Jackson steps back out from the bathroom, having done his business and brushed his teeth. He pets the golden retriever, who immediately flops over onto his back, exposing his tummy for Jackson to scratch, which he promptly does. This is their morning routine.
"You coming with me today, Maxy?"
The dog's tongue lolls out to the side and he lays limp.
"Yea, I didn't think so." He ruffles the dog's hair once more before finding his jogging pants and a warm pullover.
After he's dressed and as ready as he'll ever be, he inspects himself in the mirror. Every morning, the same chiseled, older features stare back at him and every morning, he feels like an aging, obsolete fossil. He runs a hand over his salt and pepper beard, then up through the high and tight mess of hair at the top of his head. Or at least that's what it should be - he needs a haircut. He blinks his striking blue eyes and slaps himself in the face once to wake up, then finds his shoes and heads downstairs.
He'd prepared the coffee pot the night before so he flicks the on switch and puts on his shoes, tying them tightly. After throwing on a winter cap, he grabs his keys and heads outside to the bitter chill of the morning, still dim as the sun has just barely begun to crest. The street is still asleep. He locks the door, keeping Max safely inside, and takes off at a brisk pace, shaking off his sleep and waking up his aging, tired body.
Jack always enjoys his morning run once he gets going. It clears his head, helps him focus, and gives him time to think without his phone on him and the threat of a message at any moment. As a business owner, he's a busy man but he's lucky enough to be able to run the vast majority of the day to day tasks from home. He prefers it that way - the responsibilities of the job are not lost on him, but there's no way he would have lasted as long as he has if he had to sit in an office day in and day out, with every Tom, Dick, or Harry asking him question after question about the most mundane things. It's an organic packaging company, for Christ's sake. How complicated can it be?
He grunts once at his own question and rounds the corner at the end of the road. The jog around the housing complex is about a mile one way, and it's a beautiful little town. The houses are all somewhat similar in structure; two floors with a basement garage, paved driveway, mailbox at the end of the drive. His neighbors have all managed to spruce up their places to make them their own, himself included. Each one tells a different story of their owner and as he jogs, he goes through the names of the folks who live on his street. It's how he memorizes them all.
The first mile's end comes relatively quickly and the sky has brightened up with thin, fluffy clouds forming in vast, long lines across the sky. Jackson looks up and admires the view as he turns around and heads back home, breathing easy of the morning air. He's proud of the fact that he's not too out of breath after a mile, but he can feel the sweat on his back and the burn in his calves after another a couple more minutes and is grateful that the distance is as short as it is. He rounds the corner back onto his street and can see his house at the end of the block.
"Good morning, Mr. Davis!"
Jack smiles politely and waves at his neighbor, keeping pace so to not lose his momentum, despite her greeting. Always so kind, the Monroe girl, greeting him every morning on his way back up the street. It makes him smile, and he wonders if she realizes the positive impact she has on his day to day. Once he gets back to his stoop, he ascends the stairs and manages a peek over, catching sight of the woman as she leans over the banister on her deck.
Aymie Ann can't be more than 25, and she's striking. Cute, in her own way, but she's got this elegance to her that always manages to catch Jackson off guard. She's tall and curvy, conservative of dress but has a body to kill, all legs and an hourglass figure. She stands on the back deck with a coffee mug in her hands, looking up and admiring the sunrise. Jack steps inside his front door before she can catch him staring.
He kicks off his shoes on the boot mat and Max greets him at the door. "Ah, did you finally decide to get up? Smell the coffee, hmm?"
Max shakes out his fur and heads over to the door to the deck, waiting for Jack to let him out, which he does. Max then shoots down the stairs to take care of his business, and Jackson hears Aymie talking to the dog from her deck.
"Good morning, Maxy. Did you sleep well? You are such a handsome boy, you know that? Such a pretty boy."
Max sits down in the grass and looks up at her with curiosity and admiration, and the exchange makes Jackson smile, yet again. She's such a sweet girl. They don't come like that anymore. He turns back inside and heads over the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup as he finds the fixings for his breakfast. Whole grain toast, two eggs, a black coffee, and a yogurt are his breakfast of choice and he whips it all up in record time, setting his place on the table and flicking on the TV to watch the morning news as he eats. Just before he sits down, he remembers to grab his phone and check those messages, of which three more have been added, so he listens to the news and replies to each message, munching on his toast and eggs.
Max waits patiently at the door after fifteen minutes or so out in the yard, just enough time for Jackson to finish his meal. He rinses the dishes and loads them into the dishwasher, then lets the retriever in, who promptly does a crazed speed-run through the house, as is his routine in the morning. He then flops down on the plush, black leather couch, atop a blanket of course, and passes back out. Jack chuckles at him as he heads back to the bedroom to change out of his workout clothes and into something more comfortable.
As he is mid-shirt removal, his phone rings in his pocket. Having half a mind to ignore it, he grumbles and swipes his thumb across the screen, answering.
